*dead-eyed stare*
What the actual fuck.
I word-vomited all this out in a state of rage-induced panic. Or panic-induced rage? Both? Whatever. I hope it makes sense.
It’s been nearly two weeks since the Valentine’s Day Massacre decimated the public lands workforce across the country and left my community reeling. Dozens of my friends across the country have:
been illegally fired for “poor performance.”
lost grant funding for their graduate research and now don’t know if they’ll a) get a paycheck and b) be able to finish their work.
lost grant funding for their jobs and are unsure how much longer they’ll have a job.
kept their jobs but are now working in a climate of suspicion, anxiety, and fear, waiting for their position to be axed next.
Here are some texts I have received in the last week (shared with permission):
From a friend who moved with her husband for his new position less than a year ago and bought a house in the area. They have one child who is a little older than 2, and they are expecting their second child (and the maternity leave that comes with that). This friend also works for the federal government:
I followed up with her a few days later:
From my wildlife guiding coworkers down in Grand Teton National Park:
From a friend who was laid off then reinstated because the government realized the value of having a land surveyor work towards their goal of privatizing all public lands…
And then there’s the conversation I had with one of my close college friends, who has worked in the wildlife sector since we graduated, pursued a Master’s degree, and now relies on government funding to do her work:
Let me blow that photo up for you:
Suspect the following are likely:
Selling of public lands, including Refuges [National Wildlife Refuges].
Adding oil & gas as purpose to each Refuge.
Urban Refuge future is unclear but could be considered a diversity program so may be at risk.
Land acquisition will likely come to a halt.
Visitor centers in middle of construction may be at risk. Need to fight for those projects to continue to completion.
Refuges may be unstaffed with open gates so they can say Refuges are still open to public.
Senior Executive Service (SES) employees may be moved to another location / bureau.
Talk of Refuges potentially being run by corporations [italics mine].
The conversation then continued:
Finally, there’s the conversation I had with another friend after the ridiculous “What did you do last week?” email that was sent out last Saturday.
Not sure what I’m talking about? First of all, do you live under a rock? Second, see below:
What follows is what my friend wanted to say, which she gave me permission to share:
There are so many more conversations — both in person and online — I could share, but I think you get the gist. My community is devastated, and I don’t have the vocabulary to articulate just how awful this feels.
I know these people because I used to be one of them. After earning my undergraduate degree in Wildlife Biology, I joined the ranks of civil servants who worked to protect and study the land that makes our country so unique. I worked 14-to-16-hour days for $12 an hour. I spent most of those hours on my feet in all manner of weather conditions, facing hazards on a daily basis that most people wouldn’t expect to encounter more than a handful of times in their lives. I signed a six-month contract, packed only what I could fit in my car, then drove across the country to do this work. Because I believed in it. I lived in government housing — usually in a shared room with bunk beds — in podunk towns that were at least an hour’s drive from a grocery store. The only people I interacted with were my coworkers, who were also my roommates. When the contract ended, I packed up and moved to a new location for the next six-month contract. Lather, rinse, repeat.
But that’s only the surface-level look at what I did. I also set alarms for 2am to avoid working in the unforgiving Oklahoma summer heat, then wound up working through the hottest part of each day anyway. I drove a government truck through a raging Missouri summer monsoon (because my boss ordered me to get the work done then and there), cowering in the driver’s seat as trees were ripped out of the ground all around me, leaving me stuck in the field with no saws to cut my way free and no cell service to call for help. I fended off angry geese using a metal trash can lid and a shovel as a coworker did pest removal work on the geese’s nest. I was kicked in the face by white-tailed deer, pecked by northern bobwhites, and swiped at by caracals. I nearly got my skull run over by a coworker as I crawled beneath the work truck to affix tire chains to its wheels. I woke up to a tornado ripping the roof off of my government housing and watched as so much rain poured into my room that my flip-flops floated.
You have to be deeply passionate about the work you do to endure conditions like these, especially considering the dismal paychecks I received. And I was, as was every person I worked alongside. My cohort and I did this for years, sacrificing stability, a livable wage, and our own space because we believed in the work, believed in caring for our planet, believed in protecting the only home we have.
And, while I walked away from this line of federal work years ago, I have remained closely connected to it, through the friendships built while side-hilling for miles through brushy terrain or fixing a flat tire way out in the boonies, through the research for which I still hold a deep passion and fascination, through the professors and former bosses who still ask me if I’m ever coming back to the field, and through the lands I have fallen in love with and chosen to dedicate my free time to exploring. These are the people and the places that make me feel most alive, and they all deserve to be protected, at any cost.
I’m not writing this to add to the ever-growing list of stories or to pile onto the constantly-rising anger. Rather, I’m writing this to bring it closer to home to you, my lovely readers. To explain the magnitude of what is at stake, of the losses that will ripple out from this for decades to come. To put faces to the constantly-circulating news articles and stories.
The dismantling of the systems that protect our public lands will cause devastation that will last for generations, among both our human community and our natural community. Who is left to put out the (now year-round) wildfires that are not so much a threat as a guarantee? Who is left to maintain the trails we all know and love? Who is left to rescue injured citizens in the backcountry? To study the plant and animal life that we are (quickly) destroying? To preserve the artifacts of our land’s history, from ancient civilizations to today? To teach the next generations what it means to care for the land? To protect the land so that there is something left for the next generations?
I am so, so angry. And I’m using this anger to take action. For the first time in my life, I am calling representatives. (I know, I know, I should have been doing this a decade ago.) Rather than wallow in my despair (which means the bad guys win!), I’m doing what I can to fight for the people and places I love. This largely entails sending emails and making phone calls to my elected officials. The first phone call I made was daunting and I absolutely floundered my way through it, but my confidence built with each subsequent call. I eventually found a very helpful script that I’m sharing below so that you can use it, too:
My name is (X) and I am calling from (address, zip code *this is important!*). I am reaching out as your constituent to ask you to take immediate action to reverse recent staffing cuts and hiring freezes across (State’s) federal public land management agencies. I am concerned for the future of our (State) public lands. Public land is important to me because (XYZ).
Please oppose the firing of our federal public land workforce and work toward the reinstatement of these positions integral to our public land.
Thank you.
Not sure where to find contact information for your elected officials? Head here! Want to use a great app that makes calling a breeze? (It even has scripts!) Check out 5Calls. I’ve used this app to call my representatives about a number of issues, and I hang up from each call feeling empowered and capable.
Our country may be on the fast-track to hell, but the more people we have trying to dismantle those tracks, the more we can slow that train down. Join me, will you?
Want to better educate yourself on what all of this means for the public lands and the people we hold so near and dear to our hearts? Here is a collection of some of the content I’ve pored over in the last two weeks:
Fired federal workers share the crucial jobs no longer being done - Features an interview with a friend and former coworker of mine.
A fired national park ranger lost his dream job. He says the public is losing more - Be sure to read Gibbs’ “widely shared” Facebook post, which this article links to.
A rogue ranger is documenting every National Park Service firing - Written by a friend / very talented environmental journalist.
Protesters Display Upside-Down American Flag at Yosemite - I’ve never been prouder to be a climber.
Along this line, someone please get me this sweatshirt (size small, Blue Spruce, please).
Will Federal Layoffs Affect Fire Operations This Fire Season? - Spoiler alert: A BIIIIIIG YES.
What We Lose When We Lose Trail Crews - Written by a former Forest Service mule packer and trail worker.
This is How We Fall Out of Love with the World - A must-read essay.